


Why I Hate Patagonia

by Deannie



Series: The Losers' Tour Book [2]
Category: The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”You just keep breathing, soldier,” I whisper to him. My eyes lock on Jensen’s for a second and I freeze. I’m never one to be without a plan, but right at this second, looking into his eyes and seeing fear of the kind of loss I don’t want to imagine, I got nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why I Hate Patagonia

**Author's Note:**

> For the hc_bingo prompt: plane crash

Linwood Porteous has been known to cry at phone commercials. Stone cold sober.

Usually, they’re in languages he can’t understand.

There was this one commercial we saw in a bar in Punjab—a little girl on the phone with her dad and she had this blue balloon… It was in Urdu, I think. No idea what they were saying. You can still get him misty-eyed if you mention it, though. Boy cries at the drop of a hat.

But not Cougar’s hat. No tears now, and I know that’s a warning I need to heed if we're all getting out of here.

When he gets all weepy, Roque calls him a fucking pansy-ass. Jensen and Cougar tease him like a brother. I’m just glad he’s got the humanity left in him to get misty-eyed at stupid shit like that.

He’s ruthless when he needs to be, no doubt, but I sometimes think he’s got an even softer heart than Jensen does. Makes me wonder what either of them is doing in Black Ops.

Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have recruited them.

”All right, I think we got the bleeding stopped for now.” Roque wipes his hands on his pants, the blood on the weather gear instantly freezing in the frigid air as another blast of wind blows across the cave front with a scream. God damn, I hate Patagonia in July. Fucking meat locker with the fan on full.

”He gonna make it?” I ask. I look down at Jake as he works the space blankets back over Cougar. They're both stripped out of their weather gear and it's piled on top of Cougar, blood and all, as he lies propped unconscious on Jensen's chest. Kid's got to be roasting, but he’s holding Cougar tight, whispering in his ear.

”Who knows?” Roque can sound like one cold-ass fucker when he wants to—or feels like he needs to. I figure he’s trying not to put a fist through the cave wall right now, pissed that a simple recon mission went so completely to shit. He's been at this long enough to know losing it won’t do us any favors now. So he’s one cold-ass fucker. “Used most of the bandages we salvaged from the wreckage to get this far.”

Pooch’s jaw tightens enough I’m thinking he cracked some teeth. Updrafts and stray bullets aren’t his fault, but he’s blind to that right now. In his mind, he was flying, he got caught, he’s the reason Cougar’s bleeding out on the floor of this cave.

Fernandez’s men will have seen the chopper go down and the damn thing is still smoking. With Cougar bleeding like that, we didn’t get far. They’ll be here soon. Hunting. Thank God there's no snow to go with the wind and cold. As it is, there aren't that many places to look for us, and not all of Cougar’s blood stayed in his parka.

Fuck, what a mess.

All right, time to get everybody doing something.

Jake would rather shoot me than leave Cougar right now, and I’d rather have him there where I can keep an eye on him. He’s unpredictable at the best of times, downright foolhardy at the worst. If Cougar dies, I’ll let him loose on those drug-dealing sons of bitches, but until then, I’m keeping him pinned under his… whatever the hell he and Cougar are to each other.

Doesn’t mean I’m going to give the kid time to think, though.

”Jensen? Tell Pooch what you need to get that portable set working.” I gesture to the sparked out radio pack Cougar seemed to think was so damned important while he was bleeding to death in the chopper wreckage. Wouldn’t let go of the damn thing ‘til it was safe in Jensen’s hands. Smart guy.

Jake shakes himself, whispers something in Cougar’s ear, though the sergeant is beyond hearing him right now, and looks up at me, shockingly clear eyed and focused. Not quite scary, though. Not yet. Too damned much fear of his own to deal with. “Yes, sir, Colonel.”

”Pooch, when you’re done with Jensen’s step and fetch, give me a count on ammo and ordinance. I want to know what we’re going to have to work with here.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes. ”Yes, sir.” Too damn quiet.

”Roque, tight recon—don’t stray too far, but get a lay of the land.”

He doesn’t bother to acknowledge, just slips out, limping enough to hurt but not so much that I think he broke something. I work out another spasm in my shoulder, wincing at the pull of torn muscles. Least the damn thing’s back in the socket. Rifle's going to be a bitch.

None of us came out of that chopper unscathed, though I think Roque and I are in the best shape. Pooch is limping too, but he’s also breathing shallow and I saw him hit the dashboard hard when we came down. I’m hoping it’s just broken ribs. He honestly wouldn’t notice if he had a sucking chest wound right now, though, and that’s a problem.

Jensen’s the same, mentally, but physically I think he'll be okay. At least his arm looks like it stopped bleeding—the bright pink t-shirt he tied around it isn’t any redder. I know he broke a couple of ribs against the side of the main cabin and his hands are burnt from pulling Cougar out. Idiot didn’t even take the time to put his gloves on first. Pulling and crying and bitching a blue streak…

Shit, Alvarez, don’t do this. Don’t you fucking die on us.

Cougar is a mess under that pile of mylar. He was manning the M60 in the cargo section, too damn far from anybody. When the back end hit that cliff, the whole gun harness yawed, the sharp butt of it slicing a path through his abdomen before any of us could get to him. Then it was all just fire and falling and the God damned never-ending winds of the bottom of the world in winter.

I reach down and put a hand on his head. He’s still freezing. We have a few antibiotics, but we’ll wait and see if we’re here long enough to need them.

If _he’s_ here long enough.

”You just keep breathing, soldier,” I whisper to him. My eyes lock on Jensen’s for a second and I freeze. I’m never one to be without a plan, but right at this second, looking into his eyes and seeing fear of the kind of loss I don’t want to imagine, I got nothing.

What the hell was I thinking, putting this team together? Roque and I go way back—mercenary shit that he is, I’ve still always trusted him to have my back, unless it’s in a poker game. I had to add to him a transport specialist with a taste for fire and firepower who wears his wedding ring on his dogtags “‘cause Jolene’d kill me if I lost it.” And then there’s the unlikely, weird-ass relationship or whatever between a hyperactive techie who can worm his way into any system, computer or physical, but can’t seem to learn to stomach the killing he can be so efficient at, and a sniper who remembers every fucking bullet he’s ever fired and feels every single hit he’s ever made…

Five idiots against the world. A bunch of fucking losers...

”Got your shit here, J.,” Pooch says quietly, breaking the moment as he drops the portable unit and a bag full of equipment next to Jensen’s leg. He can’t even meet Jake’s eyes, like he’s waiting to be turned on for almost killing Cougar.

All right, Frankie, situation’s FUBARed. Fix what you can.

”We’ll leave you to do your geek thing,” I say quietly. Jake doesn’t even crack a smile. There’s too much to fix it all, Clay. _Fix what you can_.

”This wasn’t your fault, Pooch,” I say quietly as we walk over to the pile of whatever the hell we could carry before the chopper blew. “You’d better get your head screwed back on straight.”

He takes a deep breath and I watch him fight back a scream. Don’t know if it’s the pain in his chest or the pain in his heart and I don’t think it matters much at this point which it is. “I should have been able—“

”Stop it, Sergeant. We do not have time for your self pity, all right?” I motion to the crap strewn around us. “Just do the job. Figure out what we’ve got that’ll take these fuckers down while Jake figures out how to call for evac.”

He’s about to “yes sir” me, but that’s not going to cut it today.

”Pooch, it’s done. It’s over. Everyone’s breathing—“

He laughs at that; high and reedy, edge of hysteria laughing. “Cougar—“

”Is not dying, Pooch.”

We both turn toward the pile of blankets at Jake’s surprisingly normal-sounding statement of fact. He’s turned awkwardly beneath Cougar’s weight, working on the radio. That has to hurt like a mother with those ribs and hands. Kid really is tougher than he looks.

He doesn’t look up at us, and that more than anything seems to get through to Pooch. It's a normal Jensen thing to do, and right now, that’s exactly what Pooch needs. ”He’s not dying now. He’s not going to die in the near future. Shit happens. Now shut up and go shoot someone for me, will you?”

Pooch’s head is still down, but his chuckle is laced with the tears I’ve been waiting for.

”I can give you a few targets,” Roque says, slipping in the cave entrance. He stops, staring in irritation and striking just the right tone. “Fuck, Pooch, are you crying again?”

I smile at that, grabbing a couple of rifles and looking for shells for them. Shit. Not much here—three out of five losers and a few hundred bullets, give or take.

Hell, more than enough.

I look over at Jake and Cougar again, hoping they’ll both be here when we get back.

”How many are there, Captain?” I ask Roque.

”Enough for the three of us,” he says. So, at least fifteen. “Let's make this quick. It’s fucking <i>freezing</I> out there.”

”Get on that radio as soon as you can, Jensen.”

Pooch and Roque arm themselves. Roque reaches down to "borrow" Cougar’s knives while Jensen takes the box of rounds Pooch hands him with a grin that’s more cure than any of the words I could say.

”I’d tell you to save a couple for me,” Jake says breezily, checking his sidearm. “But I’m kind of tired. You know, my ribs and all…”

Pooch laughs wetly and heads out into the wind with Roque. “Lazy fucker.”

”Colonel?”

I turn back to Jensen, who’s suddenly trying too hard not to look like the green, scared kid I recruited three years ago. “Evac’s going to want to extract five living soldiers, sir.”

I grin at him and head out myself.

”You’d damn well better stay alive then, hadn’t you, kid?”

He’ll do it, too. And drag Cougar with him, kicking and screaming if necessary.

That’s the thing about us Losers. We don’t go down easy.

* * * * *  
The End


End file.
